


Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

by todays_keysmash_is



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale can be scary yo, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Holy Water, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rated for swearing, Seriously they share one (1) brain cell, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), basically they both mistake each other for humans and are shook when they realize the truth, fake human AU, is that even a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todays_keysmash_is/pseuds/todays_keysmash_is
Summary: When Crowley and Aziraphale first meet, they mistakenly believe each other to be human. After falling in love and leading human lives together, Crowley is shocked to discover Aziraphale's angelic identity. Crowley knows that if he revealed his demonic self, Aziraphale would smite him on the spot- but he can only masquerade as a snake for so long, and the Apocalypse is coming.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all you beautiful people! Enjoy~  
(Rated for Crowley swearing)

It was much too dark to be wearing sunglasses.

Crowley was quick to jump on the fashion trend, and although sunglasses did not gain popularity until the 1930s, he had been wearing some form of eyewear since the 13th century. Contrary to what he first worried, they were rather easy to explain to the few humans who dared to question him about his fashion choices. With a wave of his hand, any curious bystander would suddenly remember they had much more important things to do than question the accessories of strangers.

The eyewear, of course, served a much more important purpose than confusing the people of the previous centuries- they cleverly hid away Crowley’s eyes. Before eyewear of any sort was invented, he had been forced to miracle his appearance everywhere he went, and boy was that uncomfortable. Though Crowley enjoyed shifting his appearance around as he pleased (particularly playing with gender- temptations were always more fun when presenting as a female, but Crowley found that for day to day life, presenting as male was simply much easier), his eyes were not as cooperative as the rest of his body. The deep gold color slashed with a tight vertical pupil was a dead giveaway of his demonic nature, and they certainly made life quite hard before he found a suitable way to cover them. Shifting this part of his appearance was technically possible, but covering up the truest part of who he was had unfortunate side effects. Changing his appearance to sport a pair of baby blues or dark hazels felt quite a bit like breathing through a cloth. Doable, but rather uncomfortable. For all of these reasons Crowley much preferred to use his sunglasses wherever he went.

However, there were always a few irritating situations in which sunglasses were simply not possible. Though Crowley had no cares for whether passersby on the street thought he was strange for wearing them past 6pm, there was certainly a credibility issue during temptations. Humans loved eye contact, they wanted to feel that those tempting them were trustworthy- and therefore worth listening too. In these few instances, Crowley had begrudgingly revealed a false set of eyes for whichever human he had been assigned to corrupt.

The second possible exception to his fashion rule was when it was simply too dark. Crowley had a much better sense of sight in darkness, as a result of his tendency to take the form of a giant snake. For certain late night events however, the pitch black of night combined with shades was simply too confusing for the humans.

This was how Crowley came to find himself reluctantly slipping away his sunglasses and tossing on a pair of average brown eyes before heading down into the basement of the pub.

\-------------------------------------------------------  
It was much too grim outside for all of this celebration.

Aziraphale had tried his hardest, but sometimes he feared that the hate in the hearts of humanity might be too powerful for the Heavenly Host to push away. He had been right in the thick of it when the first nazis had popped up, and now they had completely taken over France, systematically killing countless civilians. All he could do was dive into the places that were suffering the most and attempt to spark a bit of fleeting happiness in the few pure hearts that remained.

These secret meeting spots had been popping up all over the place since France lost governmental control over itself. The young people would meet here, listening to jazz on the jukebox and doing the jitterbug with anyone who was willing. It was a way for them to rebel against the iron grip on the throat of their country. At first, Aziraphale sought to break up these rendezvous points out of fear that the party-goers would be caught and punished. As the war continued on, however, Aziraphale found that these few spots were the only places in the country that he could stand to be around. Wartime had always sparked doubts in the angel. Could God really be so caring if She allowed all of that suffering? Burying himself in human culture was the quickest way to distract himself from those traitorous thoughts. He acted as a sort of parental chaperone at these events, performing miracles, advising the partygoers to take it easy on the alcohol, and making sure everyone got home safely.

This was how Aziraphale found himself confronting a man in dark clothes passing out unknown substances to the attendees.

“Excuse me, good sir,” Aziraphale started. The man nodded to the person he had just passed something too, and turned around. He seemed to fit in perfectly- maybe a tad older than the rest of the attendees, but he exuded such confidence and swagger that nobody would ever call him on it. Aziraphale, upon making this observation, became a bit embarrassed realizing that his current presentation appeared to be much older than normal for this kind of venue, and hoped that the other man would not comment.

“Crowley,” the man said, instantly shaking his hand, though Aziraphale had not offered it. A bit thrown off guard by that, the man named Crowley continued on. “And what is a gentleman such as yourself doing here on a fine night like this? Looking for your rebellious daughter?”

Ah, so he had picked up on it. Aziraphale, who entered this conversation with the intent of confronting the man, now found himself to be the one on the defensive. “Ah, no! No, not at all. If I may ask, how old do you take me to be?” Aziraphale knew the general outline of the human lifespan, and hoped that Crowley would seriously lowball his correct age by a few thousand years.

“You might be able to manage a solid 40 like myself if it weren’t for the hair,” replied Crowley, running a hand through his own red locks to illustrate the point.

“Oh! Yes, well, in that case, I am your age. It’s just, ah…” Aziraphale trailed off looking for a reason to explain his white hair. Though Aziraphale could change his physical form if he wanted too, angels never did so. Their forms were a gift from God, and She knew what was best for them. Besides, changing your presentation was a form of lying, so the only ones ever to do such a thing were the fiends below.

If Aziraphale had more time, he might have said something halfway intelligent. Instead, he told Crowley that he had dyed it that way to appear more mature, and that he was not at all suspiciously old for this gathering.

Crowley gave him a look before taking a puff off of one of the things in his bag (The angel didn’t notice a lighter, but the man must have had one).“Well, that’s certainly a creative way of dodging,'' he remarked, leaning against the wall.

A moment of worry passed over Aziraphale. Was the man accusing him of lying, dodging the question? Or was Crowley insinuating that he had dodged the draft for the war efforts? Aziraphale had, admittedly, done a few un-angel-like things in his past, but he very much disliked having anyone accuse him of it, especially breaking the law (though there had been a few times in history where certain laws were not at all backed by Heaven and moral reason). Instead of continuing to defend himself, Aziraphale took that moment to correct course and move on to his original goal.

“May I ask, what exactly is that?” Aziraphale stammered, trying to seem as though he was not embarrassed by Crowley’s previous statement.

“This? Just a joint. You want some?”

Aziraphale thought it was rather odd that Crowley was passing out weed at an event like this. He would have thought an upper, something to get people excited and dancing and carrying on even louder than before. “Certainly not,” Aziraphale stated. “That’s the devil’s lettuce, you know.”

From the look on Crowley’s face, he got the faint impression that Crowley was sharing an inside joke with the empty chair next to him before he was given a response. “Well, why do you care. You an angel?”

Aziraphale had never found himself so befuddled around a human, but with the way Crowley had made him hop on the defensive side so many times, Aziraphale was beyond flustered. He made a sharp noise to deny the allegation, and quickly grabbed the joint that Crowley had been using and gave it a puff himself. He shortly began coughing, as he had done this much too fast. Crowley, completely surprised by the sudden movement, began to laugh. “And I thought _I_ had something against angels,” he quipped.

Crowley had him at every turn. Aziraphale could barely get a word in before Crowley had placed him in yet another tight spot. The angel had walked over with the intent to thwart a run of the mill drug dealer and instead had managed to not only take a smoke himself, but to act a complete fool as well. “I have nothing against angels! Have you?” Aziraphale retorted, desperate to make himself the leader of the conversation.

“You could say I’ve lost my faith,” replied Crowley, with a grim smile.

One would think that by this point the two of them would have decided to give the other a real once over, and that the subsequent realization that neither of the pair were human would follow. This did not happen.

The thought that Aziraphale might be an actual angel did not cross Crowley’s mind at all. Someone who was so easily flustered and so quickly allowed him to dominate the conversation could be nothing but human. He had only interacted with two angels since the fall. After his first assignment, the original sin, an angel on the garden wall had offered a wing from the rain. After this gesture of kindness, Crowley approached another angel a few years later, and was nearly killed on the spot for his attempt at friendship. It had taken quite a few centuries to recover from that. Since then, Crowley had kept to himself. He could usually spot an angel using the mantra, “if someone is acting holier-than-thou, they probably are.” Crowley had given up on the search for friends, whether occult, ethereal, or mundane. Besides, the garden had been thousands of years ago, and he certainly didn’t remember that angel’s face anymore. This is why Crowley did not recognize Aziraphale as an angel.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was simply not very good at his job. He indulged in the culture of humans constantly, eating their food, collecting their art, and reading their books. He saw the best in humanity, and though his heart would ache during similar times of war and hardship, he lived his life with the assumptions that all humans were mostly good, though easily swayed. For this reason, he had actually been duped by demons before. Though he had certainly run into a fair share of overtly evil demons, there were three times in history where particularly sneaky ones had succeeded at masquerading as humans in order to escape the angel’s territory. Aziraphale did not know this, because he had not caught any of the three. There was another demon he had interacted with thousands of years ago, at the garden, where he offered his wing to one as a symbol of his hope that the two groups would not be the enemies they were destined to be. Unfortunately, he was caught and reprimanded for this act. Adding to his disappointment, he was also told that the demon had been “dealt with”. This is why Aziraphale did not recognize Crowley as a demon.

After Aziraphale finished his coughing spell, he decided to change the subject and course correct once more. “Why are you selling that here?”

“Selling? No, I’m giving it away, actually.”

Aziraphale blinked. He thought that this would be an open and shut case- a down on his luck man who resorted to selling whatever drugs he could find in order to make ends meet, ruining himself in the shady business and hurting the health of others in the process. By passing on some encouraging words and perhaps a small miracle to increase the man’s funds, Aziraphale could sway him from his negative behavior. But refusing payment threw a wrench in that theory. “Giving it away? But why?”

Crowley shrugged. “Might be the end of the world. Who knows? Besides, these kids don’t really want to party.”

“They don’t?”

Crowley gestured to the crowded room. “Look around.”

Aziraphale did, and thought about what he saw. At first, he saw a crowd of young people dancing, smiling, and appearing to have loads of fun. But, Crowley had intrigued him, and so he looked further. Setting his mind to pick out the mistakes in the pictures, he was able to find them. The smiles of the partygoers were forced, the dancing was too aggressive, and the music was too quiet for a real celebration. Everyone was desperate to prove that they were okay, but it was clear to the angel and the demon that everybody was terrified- of being caught, of losing their country, of losing the war, of losing their loved ones.

“Just thought I could do my part and help everyone relax a bit,” finished Crowley.

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, interested by this development. So he wanted to help calm down these kids? By giving away free joints? Aziraphale could understand some of that, but was still a bit confused by the logic. If the angel had known of Crowley's true nature, however, it would make perfect sense. Crowley was a demon who was not very good at it. He empathized with the humans, and tried his best to help them whenever possible. However, he always had to do it in a way that looked evil enough that Hell wouldn't reprimand him about it. Thus, free joints for the masses. Though Aziraphale was apprehensive about engaging in conversation with the man again, he did so anyway.This is how the two spent the rest of the night.

Though Crowley still offered a joint to anyone who wandered over, as Aziraphale passed a disapproving look his way, the two of them had completely forgotten their original objectives. Crowley did not foment, and Aziraphale did not thwart. They talked about many things, though both each carefully avoided discussion of their personal lives, and by the end of the night both of them were struck with the desire to meet again. There was one more slightly uncomfortable moment when Aziraphale, so intrigued by the man, accidentally told Crowley his real name rather than using a human alias. Aziraphale quickly backtracked, stuttering that his family was very religious and he really ought to get the name changed someday. “The whole damn angel thing again, I guess,” Aziraphale finished with a strained laugh, referencing their previous conversation.

Crowley let out a small smile, but on the inside he was howling with laughter. He wondered what they would do upstairs if they knew there was a human with an angelic name speaking of them in such a way.

Any other pairing of angel and demon would have recognized the other for what they were within a few hours, if not instantly. But this duo, so trusting of humans, so different from the rest of their sides, and frankly so incompetent at their jobs, did not. Crowley told the angel in disguise that he would be there next week, and Aziraphale nodded.

This is how their friendship began.


	2. And So It Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get into character.

After about a month of meeting this way, Aziraphale produced a paper and pen (Crowley didn’t see the man reach into his pockets for them, but he must have) and passed his phone number to Crowley. “I’m going away on business,” said the angel, “but I wouldn’t mind catching up afterwards. Perhaps lunch?”

Aziraphale was not usually so forward, but something about this man had really interested him. His ideas about ethics and morality were unlike anything Aziraphale had ever considered, and while he didn’t agree with it all, some of it was certainly starting to make sense. Besides, you had to move much faster than what was comfortable with humans. Their short lives made these things a bit more difficult.

Crowley had agreed to call him at some point, but not before questioning what kind of business. In this moment, Aziraphale was forced to improvise. He couldn’t very well let a human know that Heaven had requested his presence in North Africa, and that he was to create a few miracles in order to assist the ending of the battles taking place there. Usually, his cover story around humans was the bookshop he owned. This would not make much sense to Crowley because of the obvious question about why exactly a Londoner had popped over to the heart of France every other weekend in the middle of the most devastating war the world had ever seen. However, Aziraphale did not do well under pressure, and so all he was able to do was make a last minute adjustment to his usual story before Crowley questioned the suspicious pause.

“Well, I’m actually, ah, starting my own business!” Aziraphale proclaimed, happy to have found a halfway decent excuse. “The location is over in London, so I'll need to be going for a while. Setting up, and the like. It's a bookstore, actually.” The angel knew it was flimsy, but he was glad that it was at least a half-truth rather than a full on lie. He had owned the bookshop for quite a long time, but Crowley didn’t need to know that.

Crowley blinked at the angel. It was in that moment Aziraphale really noticed his eyes. They seemed normal enough, two pupils, two basic brown irises, but there was just something about them that made Aziraphale think Crowley was wearing some kind of invisible glasses. With most humans, Aziraphale could peer into their eyes and read their emotions if he really focused, but Crowley’s eyes were heavily guarded by... something. Before Aziraphale could dwell too long on his thoughts, Crowley responded.

“How exactly did you plan on leaving, Aziraphale?” Crowley questioned. It was not a question that meant to poke a hole in the lie- Crowley believed him, he was just sincerely wondering how this human was planning to slip past the remaining Nazi forces. “Not only that, but, is London really the best place to be setting up shop right now?”

Aziraphale did not pick up on the fact that Crowley was also worried for his safety. He told Crowley he would be just fine anyway. “Oh, you know. I have my ways. Besides, someone is going to have to be there when this is all over and the rebuilding starts, yes?”

Crowley wondered for a moment if he should use his demonic influence to prevent Aziraphale from going away, but decided against it. This human was so unlike any that he had met before, and while he would be saddened to hear of their death, the thing that was so incredible about humans was their free will. It was something the demon had a true reverence for. Crowley did not have free will- he had only the illusion of it. Yes, he was not exactly employee of the century downstairs, and he fudged the paperwork quite often, but Hell still had a hold over him. There was simply no escaping it. With a sigh, Crowley decided to stop asking questions, and let some things about this strange human remain a mystery. “Sounds like a noble cause indeed, angel.”

Aziraphale studied him a moment after that. The angel nickname had arisen rather naturally as an inside joke about their first conversation. It made Aziraphale a bit uncomfortable the first few times Crowley had used the joke, as he was worried about being discovered, but Aziraphale being uncomfortable seemed to encourage Crowley. Trying a new tactic, Aziraphale had decided to stop reacting to the nickname, but by that point it had become second nature to Crowley.

Crowley was usually rather pessimistic, so this response, what appeared to be a sincere compliment, intrigued the angel. In the past, Aziraphale had been drawn to humans with pure hearts and obviously joyful souls. Crowley was an exception to this (in fact, Aziraphale was beginning to realize that Crowley was an exception to quite a number of things), and Aziraphale felt the reason he was drawn to him was much different. He felt that, though Crowley seemed to be dark and standoffish on the outside, there was something underneath that was worth exploring. But surely, this was simply the inherent heavenly desire to draw out the good in the soul of a lost human- right?

Standing a bit straighter at the compliment, Aziraphale returned the question. “What about yourself? What do you do, exactly? How has it been affected by all this?”

Crowley’s demeanor reverted back to the usual distant manner as he answered. “Odd jobs, I suppose. The lot I run around with, well,” he paused, staring at his drink, “I don’t think you’d quite approve of them.”

Aziraphale stiffened for a moment. “Are you telling me, you’re…?”

The other man shook his head, “Oh, Heav- Hell no, I’m not with those Nazi bags of slime,” he assured Aziraphale, who relaxed. “You might call it a family business. It’s just that my lot is, well, I’m not exactly proud of my association with them,” he finished with a sip of his glass.

The two said their goodbyes, both equally expecting the chance of the other surviving the next year to be very low. They were both sad in the way that they had been before when parting a human companion, but also sad in a new and different way. No other human had been able to match wit so well, and they both very much wanted to meet again.

As it happened, they did not see each other again until the war had ended.


	3. A Match Made In Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale begin their lives together.

In 1946, Crowley found a piece of paper with a number on it. He did not recognize who the number belonged to, but it was clearly for a telephone. Thinking no harm of it, he rung up the operator and asked her to direct his call.

“A. Z. Fell books, sorry to say we are not open today, is there something else I can help you with?”

“Angel?”

“Crowley! Oh, goodness me, I wasn’t expecting… I mean, that is to say, you… hello!”

“...hello.”

“Ah, well, how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages, I figured, well, you know, what with the destruction and all that, and you know how it can be, and so I wasn’t ever thinking of, ah, you see, this is...”

A pause, as the angel reeled himself in and managed to close his mouth. “Anyway, what suddenly inspired you to call?”

Crowley looked down at the paper in his hand. “Honestly, I had no idea this number was yours. Just found this old paper here and figured I would give it a shot.”

“Oh! Lucky indeed.”

Another pause, before Crowley realized he was expected to respond. “Well, so, still in London then?”

“Oh yes, the bookshop business is going wonderfully, and though I am grateful for the end of that fighting, I do miss speaking with you.”

This human really was something else. He could feel the inner tension radiating from Aziraphale even through the phone- it wouldn’t be too hard to tempt him. After all, he had practically ripped the joint out of his hand the first night they met. It might be fun to see that dynamic again. “Feeling's mutual, angel. Say, what if I told you I’m in London right now?”

From there, it was easy to set up a meeting. Crowley had to lie quite a bit, as he was not even in Europe at the time, but lying was just a part of the demonic job description.

The first meeting post war went a bit smoother than previous meetings. They had some time after the phone call to prepare backstories and alibis before speaking again. Both of them told stories of long lost families, secretive jobs that required a lot of traveling, degrees in history and philosophy, and tragic pasts that they simply did not want to discuss. Both of them noticed that there were many similarities in their backstories, but the two figured this was the result of mostly copying the other as they listened to their respective life stories.

They only met up a few times after that before Crowley started to get a bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he disliked Aziraphale, far from it in fact. It was that Crowley had never really had a friendship with a human before. For most temptations, all he had to do was whisper a few inspiring words to whatever human, and then leave. Lust was the only sin he really had to be around for, and even then, he was usually able to convince the humans to do depraved things to each other rather than having to volunteer himself. As Crowley reflected on this, he wondered if he should change course, but everytime he got close he found himself unwilling to go through with it. Free will was the thing that made Aziraphale so intriguing, and though Crowley could have his way with the man if he so desired, Crowley did not want to use his demonic influence on Aziraphale. He wanted to see how their partnership would grow naturally. This is how their relationship progressed from a casual friendship to a bit of a subdued romance.

With Stonewall not scheduled for another twenty years, there were plenty of cultural reasons to avoid overt flirtation. Aziraphale knew that he gave off a bit of an attractive aura to humans, so he was not surprised when Crowley began this shift in behavior, but was flattered nonetheless. Lingering glances and slight brushes of hand, this is how they played their game. In a few months, Crowley had bought a nearby flat (which he claimed he had owned for many years now), and the two began enjoying dinners and walks and plays and all of the things that lovers might do, but that good friends might do as well.

Aziraphale had been friends with humans before, but never romantically. This was because he felt that his angelic influence was unfair, drawing humans to him without their understanding of what was happening. Human friendships could be quite a bit of fun, and were usually necessary to accomplish large scale good deeds. Only a close friend could successfully convince a lost human to get their lives back on track. Romantic suggestions were simply not needed. Usually, when a human made advances, Aziraphale eased his way out of the situation to not hurt any feelings. With Crowley however, Aziraphale found himself desiring the advances for the first time. There was something so unlike anyone else about him, and the angel loved to learn. This is what drew him to the demon.

And so it went.

Years of this dance passed them by. Though every once in awhile their superiors would send them off to some far away country, the two were always eager to return to each other. They went to the Olympics in 1948 and marveled at the abilities of the human form. They were at the festival of Britain in 1951 enjoying the artistic talent of God’s creations. And they were at simple sunrises in the park, quiet early mornings when nothing made a sound but the birds and the rivers. There was an odd month where Crowley panicked, realized what was happening to his emotions, and disappeared. Though he never told the angel the reason for his disappearance, Crowley had been off banging everything in sight to prove to himself that he did not feel anything of significance for the other man. After realizing the trip made him feel worse, Crowley returned home, and resigned himself to loving Aziraphale.

As the years passed, the two began to slowly shift their forms. Aziraphale had never done so in the past, but he knew it was needed to keep up the ruse, and ever since meeting Crowley he had begun rebelling outwardly just a little bit more. Every month or so, a new wrinkle would appear, a new scar, a new mole. The angel, upon realizing he knew nothing about dying hair, had eventually edited his previous lie and informed Crowley instead that he had some kind of rare, embarrassing condition that made his hair so starkly white. Crowley seemed to accept this, and slowly the shocking red of his own hair began to fade as well. The demon was thrilled when contacts were finally invented in the 50s, as wearing sunglasses 24/7 or shifting his eyes had really started to bother him. Though colored contacts would not arise for another thirty years, Crowley was able to miracle the ones he purchased to suit his needs and hide the bright gold of his eyes.

The pair knew that human lives were very short, and though it had been the longest either of them had ever been with another, they knew they would have very little time to be with each other. Within ten years, the two had moved in together.


	4. It All Goes To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns Aziraphale's secret.

Cohabitation was nice. Leaving behind the flat in favor of the bookshop, Crowley loved to sit and watch Aziraphale read. The angel loved to hand Crowley a glass of wine and hear his thoughts on the latest political scandal. It was like a breath of fresh air to come home to the other.

Though they never moved to sexual territory, with Crowley too worried about the influence of corruption and Aziraphale too concerned that his attracting angelic aura negated affirmative consent, the two were very happy. The squeeze of a soft hand on another, the gentle sigh of a head resting on a shoulder, the light caress of a cheek- it was more intimate than anything else either had experienced.

The two of them never said it aloud, but they knew it was love. Crowley was a bit scared of what that could imply, but he knew that the human would die soon, and the secret of the demon’s weakness would be buried with him. Aziraphale was a bit concerned as well, but he knew that his love would soon be gone, and so would any evidence that he had unfairly loved one human above others.

There were a few moments when both of them considered leaving. They were worried that their influence, whether positive or negative, would knock off balance the raw humanness of the other. But these concerns were always forgotten when the other beckoned for them with a soft pat against the couch cushion next to them or a friendly lift of a wine glass. Perhaps they should not be doing this, they thought, but they wanted to.

And if they were being a bit disobedient, well, nobody would ever know.

As the years passed, the two of them slowly became more open with each other. Crowley mentions how the years aren’t enough, and Aziraphale imagines an impossible forever. The two of them hold sadness in their hearts that grows with every flip of the calendar, but they hold steady for each other.

As the years ticked by, the two realized they had finally hit the stage in a human life where elderly are transferred to round the clock care. Neither suggests this. They both wanted to be there when that final moment happened.

Aziraphale by now was certain that Crowley was pure of heart. Though the Host may try to send his soul below for actions taken in his youth, Aziraphale was preparing a sturdy defense that he was constantly practising in his head. If he was lucky, he could even receive the honor of guiding the beautiful soul upwards himself.

Crowley by now was certain Hell would devour Aziraphale. It pained him to know this, but Aziraphale was simply not up to the impossibly high standards of Heaven. You had to be entirely selfless to make it up there. Aziraphale had enjoyed life, and spent his time engaging in the pleasures the world had to offer him. Hell could accuse him of gluttony for all the wonderful meals, of pride in his book collection, of sloth for the many lazy days spent at the park, and they would have him. Crowley did not have a defense for Aziraphale because he knew it would be useless, but he wanted to be there when the moment came anyway. Perhaps, if he was the one to guide his soul down, he could place him in a hidden corner where no tormentor would bother to look.

They celebrated the millennium together. Lying in bed, listening to the fireworks, their falsely frail bodies intertwined. They knew that the time for the end would be very soon.

Crowley had thought about revealing his true self to Aziraphale. He was used to lying, but he didn’t like keeping secrets from this specific human. However, he was fairly certain that nobody wanted to find out that their significant other was secretly the spawn of Hell. And, if he was being honest, Crowley didn’t want to be thought of that way. With Aziraphale, he felt accepted. He felt as close to love as he could since She abandoned him. He did not want Aziraphale to be disgusted with him, to fear him, to hate him, to know what an abomination he really was. He decided to keep the secret.

Aziraphale came to the opposite conclusion. While anyone would probably be shaken to learn that their significant other was an angel, Aziraphale assumed that Crowley would come to understand. He felt great love from Crowley, and Aziraphale had not revealed himself to a human in a long time. It was a very intimate act, and Aziraphale wanted Crowley to know his whole self. He wanted Crowley to feel good, to know that someone had been on his side, had been watching over him the whole time. Most importantly, he wanted Crowley to hear him proclaim that Crowley was a good person. Crowley always brushed him off when the angel tried to express this to him, but surely Crowley couldn’t deny an _angel_ telling him that his soul was pure.

This was how Crowley came to find himself in quite a predicament.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Happy New Year,” Aziraphale smiled through a mountain of wrinkles.

“Happy New Year,” Crowley responded with a similar smile.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s cheek and brought himself forward. Crowley realized what was happening and had a moment of hesitation. They had avoided a real, true kiss. It simply was not necessary to express their devotion, but as an addition, Crowley had wanted to refrain from that kind of contact in order to prevent himself from influencing Aziraphale. The angel had avoided it for the same reason, but knowing it was all about to end, he finally pushed those thoughts aside. Crowley’s hesitation was the result of a need to protect the other man from damnation, but as he leaned in, he resigned himself to Aziraphale’s fate- kissed by a demon or not, there was no saving him.

Their lips met with an extreme softness. Yellowed teeth and odd grey chin hairs and cold sores did not stop either party from thinking that the other was the most beautiful of God’s creations. As they parted, a tear escaped Crowley’s false eyes, preemptively mourning him as the demon reflected on the secrets Aziraphale could never know.

“I love you,” said the angel.

Oh. So we were doing this all the way then.

“I love you too.”

The squeeze of a hand.

“I have been wanting to tell you something,” said Aziraphale. “It will come as a bit of a shock, but it is something I want you to know. I care about you very much and, well, this will be hard for me too, but it is important to me that I do this with you.”

Crowley wasn’t sure where Aziraphale was going with this. First the kiss, then those words… what could top that? But he nodded, and watched in disbelief as Aziraphale climbed out of bed, walked around to the other side, and propped Crowley up against the pillows with the agility of a teenager.

“Your legs…?” Crowley wondered as he let himself be adjusted by Aziraphale. “But, your cane? Angel, what on Earth…?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, that nickname. You really had me worried that first time, but what can I say, it grew on me.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s frail hand in his own, and looked into his eyes. “Now. Do not be afraid.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and inhaled, beginning to glow. If he had kept his eyes open, perhaps he would of caught the look of unbridled terror on the face of his lover at those familiar words.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale did not go so far as to open a thousand eyes and hundred wings in a blaze of light, but he did allow himself to de-age, manifest his halo, and stretch out a sensible singular pair of feathered appendages.

In response, Crowley flipped the fuck out.

Aziraphale had expected some initial panic, but he had not expected Crowley to jerk his hand away, throw the blankets over himself and yell “Stay back! Stay back!”

Surprised by this reaction, Aziraphale bent down. “My dear, my darling, it is alright. It is just me. Do not be afraid.”

Those four words triggered the exact opposite response the angel hoped for, and Crowley grew even louder. “Fuck! FUCK! Get out! Get out NOW!”

A bystander may have questioned how such an old man was able to yell with such energy, but the angel was so distraught he did not think of that question. “Crowley dear, please… if you would just give me a moment of your time…”

Crowley went silent. This was not because he wanted to give the angel a chance to speak, but because Crowley could not manage any more yelling at the moment. He was now paralyzed with fear, realizing that he was impossibly close to being blasted off the face of the planet in a blaze of holy energy. He had to keep up the human act, or he would die. He would deal with the whole _‘holy shit I fell in love with an angel and they loved me back’_ issue later.

Aziraphale took the pause to explain himself in the gentlest voice he could muster. “My dear, I must inform you that I am a celestial being. An angel of the Lord, if you will. I have met kind humans before, but never someone like you. I am sorry to have frightened you, but after being with you for so long, I wanted you to know before your time on Earth ends. I wanted you to know that you were never alone, and you won’t be when the end comes, either. You have a pure heart, I know there is so much good, so much love in your soul.”

Crowley felt like he was going to vomit.

“Please, my dear, let me spend these last few moments with you. Let me care for you. Let me ease away your worries and your pain and your fears. It will be okay. You will be with God soon, and I know She will love you as much as I-”

“Stop!” Crowley choked. He could not handle this. Love from a human was scandalous enough, but from an angel? From _Her_? He couldn’t breathe.

“You, you…” he stuttered. “You have to go.”

Aziraphale looked at the pile of blankets that shielded Crowley’s face from him. “You have to go, angel- er, I mean- Azira-” As he said the name he realized how stupid he had been. _Really Crowley?_ He berated himself. _A name like fucking Aziraphale and you think to yourself that’s not suspicious at all?_ “You just have to go.”

The angel retracted his form, shifting back the wings and halo but choosing to keep the appearance of the age he was when he first met Crowley. “My dear…”

“Please. Just go,” came a broken voice from behind the sheets.

“Alright,” said the other voice.

Crowley heard footsteps slowly moving to the door. He bit down on his fist, hard. A million thoughts rushed through his head. He should let him leave, he should take a quiet desk job in Hell for a few centuries while the angel forgot, and he should permanently change his form to be safe. He should not call out, “Wait!”

A pause in the steps.

Crowley was panicking. What was he supposed to say? What should he do?

“Az-, um. Look. This is all just, it’s a bit much yeah?”

Silence.

He went to stuff his fist back into his mouth when he realized his hand was bleeding. He realized this in the way that one might realize they had walked so far in one direction that they would be too tired to walk all the way back, but it had been such a lovely walk and they just couldn’t find the will to turn around. He tried to convince himself to see reason. Crowley didn’t really know this man. Not really. He knew how he behaved when masquerading as a human, but he did not know anything about his angelic life. Even as humans, the two had only shared company for a bit over fifty years, hardly long enough to be a significant amount of time for an occult being such as himself. This was a rather sound argument that the demon really should just take this as an out and let the whole thing go.

But as he told himself this, Crowley realized he did not want to listen to reason. In all those years, all those millennia of listening to the rules, rules, rules. Of breaking them and bending them and being suffocated by them. Crowley had suffered this alone, and never before, never had he heard another soul express to him that they felt the same way too. _And from an angel, no less!_ Was that hope? Was that the glimmer of, of something bigger, something possible? That maybe in this God-dammed world he might, just once, have… an ally?

He knew it was impossible. He knew he would be destroyed in a fiery ball of light if the angel ever knew the truth. He knew it was hopeless. Ironic, how despite all those years of questioning everything, questioning to the point of Falling, in this moment he wanted so badly to be ignorant. He took a breath.

“Okay. Um, so maybe you can, ah… Okay.” He was stalling. What to do, what to do? Crowley was barely holding on, he had to say something, suggest a plan, what’s the plan? He needed time, needed more time, this was all too much…

“Look, just, just come back later, alright? Maybe we can talk things out, just… not right now.” His hands were shaking. How much time? What’s human enough but long enough? He forced himself to spit out the words.

“Ah… a year.”

More silence. Aziraphale stared at the mass of blankets visibly shaking. Sadness flooded over him as he turned away. The footsteps resumed, and the door creaked open. “Goodbye, Crowley, my love.”

The closing of a door, and then, nothing.


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale try to make a plan.

Aziraphale went directly to the bench in St. James park. That reliable bench, where he and Crowley had spent many a chilly evening, scooting closer to one another out of the need for warmth, or perhaps, the need for something else entirely. When he reached their spot, he sat down, closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, bowed his head, and allowed himself to cry.

He had wanted so desperately for this to go well. He should have thought it through more- what was he thinking, going at it with no real plan? He was just so swept up in the moment, so caught up in the excitement of that kiss, that promise to protect him, that _I love you too_, that he had just gone and ruined it all. Thank God he didn’t give him a heart attack, if Crowley had died right then it would have been terribly awkward.

And oh, his face. That expression right before it all went wrong was so wonderful, so perfectly human, as if loving the angel was the most natural thing in the world. There was no denying that Aziraphale’s bond with Crowley was beyond any he had formed with any other person- or angel, for that matter. But then, how that face fell.

He had seen terror on the face of humans before. A few regrettable times, that terror had been directed at himself- those rare moments centuries ago when the Lord had requested he reveal himself to bring messages to the humans, as well as two specific times that he was under orders to, well, to do some less than pleasant things in the name of the Host. He hated to think of those times.

But in all of those moments, never before had he known the person so well. And never before had he experienced what it was like to be looked at the way Crowley looked at him in those precious moments before. Every moment spent reflecting on the pure horror that distorted the once loving expression on the face of his partner sent another sob through the angel. Crowley’s mouth had gasped open, his eyes had gone wide, his elderly body somehow went even whiter as Aziraphale had tried in vain to console him. And then to pull up the covers, a childish defense to be sure, but the angel had frightened him so badly that Crowley had no other defense. The worst of it, strangely, was when Aziraphale spoke Crowley’s praises. Crowley had always been the type to shrug off compliments, but this time he behaved as though the words of praise and love had burned him, as if it were physically painful to hear how much he was loved, how much the angel was sure God would love him too. The complete despair on his face, well, it was a striking contrast to the way Crowley had looked at him in those moments before.

Those fleeting years- a lifetime for a human, but for Aziraphale, merely a blip. Those years should be meaningless in the long run, they should be statistically insignificant. But Aziraphale knew in his heart that they wouldn’t be. He would remember Crowley for a long, long time. He could only hope that when he returned the next year, he could give Crowley a happier memory.

Aziraphale faltered as grim possibility overtook him. Crowley was beautiful, but he was old, so very old. Aziraphale had been his sole caretaker. All alone in that house, Crowley might not make it another year. His head snapped up and he whirled around looking for anyone nearby. There was only one other, a middle aged woman in tattered clothes sleeping under a faraway tree. Homeless, no doubt. With an anxious flick of his hand, Aziraphale planted the thought in her mind that she might be able to find a job as a housekeeper around here, and that once employed, she shouldn’t worry about who exactly was signing her paychecks.

The woman stirred slightly in her sleep as the miracle settled, and Aziraphale felt marginally better. He still realized the risk that, regardless of the help, Crowley still may not make it to their next meeting. The angel so wanted to be there, to hold close the soul and finally see for certain if it was as bright as he imagined it would be. But he would not go back on his word. He would wait as long as the human needed.

With a glance upwards, Aziraphale adjusted his coat, and went about looking for a new place to live.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Crowley spent the next three hours slowly rocking himself under the covers. _Think about it later, think about it later- just focus on what needs to happen right now_, he told himself. But the sight of Aziraphale changing like that- no, that wasn’t what really bothered him (well, it certainly did bother him, but not as much as what he said), it was those words. Words from an angel. Words of praise, of love, _of love! From an angel!_

He couldn’t believe it. He could not. It had to be false, it had to be a trick or, or something.

But it wasn’t.

Crowley realized two things. He did not believe that he was as good as the angel made him out to be, but those words had finally solidified a secret question that Crowley had held for centuries. This moment, this was what finally proved that Crowley was not like the others. He was different. He had to be. He had always wondered if he was, but he figured that this worry was just narcissism, simply the behavior of a demon who thinks he must be special just because. But for a real, true life angel, to say all that? Crowley could no longer deny that he was, indeed, quite a bit different from his demonic peers.

The second thing he realized was much harder to admit to himself, and so he did not. As he finally gathered up the resolve to kick away the blankets, to (finally) wipe away the wrinkles and return back to his usual presentation, and to get the hell out of that bookshop, he did not at all admit to himself that he was still quite in love with Aziraphale.


	6. Take It From The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley hides his true identity to get close to Aziraphale... again.

The woman from the park arrived the next day. She did not find anyone inside, but she felt the need to tidy up the shop anyway. For three hundred and sixty-three days, she was alone. With the mysterious checks deposited in her bank account (which, miraculously, she didn’t think twice about), she finally had enough money to buy a modest place of her own, and had accepted a job waitressing at a local restaurant a few days back. Still, for some reason, she felt like she wanted to check up on the house one last time. On day number three hundred and sixty-four, her final day, she noticed something else was in the house.

A huge black snake was curled across the armchair near the fire.

“Oh, my!” said the woman, as if she had discovered a flower in the sidewalk crack, and not at all sounding as if she had just discovered a predator of monstrous size well within striking distance.

The snake moved to get a better look, as if curious. “You know, I’ve been taking care of this little shop for the past year, and I’m not quite sure why. But something about you makes me think it was worth it.”

The snake stared for another moment, and then laid back on the chair. The woman went about dusting and vacuuming as usual. After an hour, she turned back to the snake. “Well, I’m off now. Something important is happening here tomorrow, so I won’t be back. But I very much appreciated your company. Goodbye!”

The bell against the door gave out a ring as the woman left, and then Crowley was alone. He certainly had not been expecting the woman to appear, but he was touched that Aziraphale had thought to send someone to check up on him.

In the year that had passed since the last time Crowley spoke to the angel, Crowley blew through quite a few different coping strategies. Breaking things turned out to be a great stress reliever, but soon the demon resigned himself to the fact that it wasn’t a very productive strategy.

In the few months that he had to figure out what to do, he thought of exactly one logical response to the scenario- to simply disappear. However, intelligent as he was, common sense was not his forte. Crowley had known for a long time that he was different from the other demons. Like all demons, he wanted to do, well, whatever he wanted. Unlike demons, what he wanted to do was not torment sinful souls for all of eternity in the fiery pits of yadda yadda yadda. What he wanted was Aziraphale.

It took awhile for Crowley to come to grips with this. Even after realizing what Aziraphale was, after realizing how quickly the angel could disintegrate him, after realizing what an impossible scenario it all was, it didn’t change how he felt. It certainly explained some things. It explained why he had felt that Aziraphale had understood his fears and worries better than any other human, and why Aziraphale seemed to be so different from anyone else he had met. But Aziraphale was still different. Even though part of the mystery had been solved, the angel was still a bit off. He had never influenced Crowley to behave in a “Godly” way, hell, he had never even pushed Crowley into attending church services. This angel seemed to go “off duty” from time to time- something a typical angel would never dare. In addition, Aziraphale seemed to delight in the wonders of the Earth. No angel Crowley had ever heard of would dream of that. The demon had truly thought that, as a human, Aziraphale was doomed to Hell. It really wasn’t so surprising that Crowley hadn’t realized Azirapahle’s angelic truth, considering how strange the angel was.

And so, Crowley decided that he did not want to disappear. The next question became how exactly Crowley planned on remaining with the angel without revealing his immortal status. He thought about destroying his body, getting a new one, and allowing Aziraphale to get to know him all over again as a different person. That plan was too risky, though. It was unlikely he would get another body within just one year, and besides, Aziraphale seemed the loyal type. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to become friends with the angel again while Aziraphale was still mourning his supposedly dead other friend.

After thinking on this conundrum for nearly a year, Crowley made the decision he knew he was going to make from the start. He decided to reveal himself to the angel. He would wait inside the house in his usual form, and let the angel see him for what he was. If he was struck down by the might of Heaven, then so be it. Crowley was too curious (always too curious, that fatal flaw), and though he did not particularly want to be removed from the world, he had to know more about this angel. He would just have to be brave.

As it happened, Crowley was not brave at all. Sitting in Aziraphale’s favorite armchair by the fire the day before the angel was to return, he had quite literally jumped out of his skin upon hearing the door open and fearing the angel was early. In the form of a snake, he watched an unfamiliar woman speak to him without fear, and go about cleaning the house.

As Crowley waited for the hours to pass, a new plan began to take shape in his mind. Perhaps there was a way he could continue to watch over the angel, without risking his life on it. He took a few moments in his human form to complete the last minute details, and then settled back on the chair as a much more reasonably sized snake.  
\-------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale had not forgotten to return. It was, after all, his bookshop. It was rather irritating living without it, he had been forced to set up in a hotel room for the last year, and he wanted to get back to his old routine. But all of these worries were secondary concerns. Crowley was, as he had been for the last few decades, at the forefront of Aziraphale’s mind. He knocked on the door, more out of politeness than anything, knowing that if Crowley was still around he would be far too weak to answer the door himself. When there was no response, he let himself in. Ignoring the urge to check up on the bookshelves, the angel headed straight for the bedroom above the shop where he had left his love.

He paused as his hand curled around the doorknob. “Crowley, my dear?” he called out. “I’ve returned, as you wished. I was hoping, perhaps, we could have a bit of a longer discussion this time.” When there was no response, he bit his lip. Taking a breath, he opened the door.

The bed was empty.

Aziraphale let out the breath he had been holding, allowing the grief to overtake him. With great sadness releasing through his body, he managed to bring himself to kneel by the bed. He would have to get a new one, a fleeting thought suggested. He couldn’t very well sleep in a bed haunted by such memories. Then, of course, he remembered that he didn’t need to sleep anyway, and what harm was it to preserve the memory of a dear friend?

Aziraphale held onto the sheets tightly, creating wrinkles in the neat fabric. Burying his face on the bed, he sighed. “Oh, Crowley. I’m ever so sorry that I wasn’t here for you. I promise I will visit you, one day. You have the most beautiful soul, I’m sure of it.”

Rising from his prayer-like stance, he noticed an envelope on the bedside table. On it was written a single word- “Angel.”

It was his handwriting. As carefully as possible, knowing he would preserve this message for all time, he gently opened the seal and took out the letter inside.

Hello Aziraphale,

If you are reading this, I’m no longer there to greet you. Sorry about that. Wish I could be around to say a proper goodbye, but that's just not in the cards for us. I want you to know that I've decided I'm alright with your little secret. I was a bit shocked when you revealed yourself to me, but please, don't worry over it any longer. I've decided that my feelings about you are unconditional.

I do still think that you were wrong about me. Probably blasphemous to think an angel could be wrong about anything, but still. There's a lot of crap you never knew about me, Aziraphale. You were kind enough to reveal yourself to me, but there were secrets I never shared. You probably knew that already, though.

I'm writing this to tell you that I have one last favor to ask of you. There's something I need you to take care of for me- call it a family pet if you’d like. Not important how I got it or why it needs to be you, that’s just how it is. The lady you’ve been sending has kept it well enough entertained. You can probably find it near the fire.

Aziraphale, I don't regret one second of the time I've spent with you. I am forever thankful to you. But I'd never be good enough for you. I could never be deserving of you. So, please, don’t think about me anymore. You have an incredible life left to live, without me.

Yours eternally,

Crowley

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when the tears began to softly fall across his cheeks, but when he realized, he was careful not to let them stain the last remaining piece of his lost love. Even after all that, Crowley still couldn't see himself the way Aziraphale did. He had left this Earth thinking he was undeserving of the happiness Aziraphale had so desperately tried to bring him. The angel had failed. With yet another sigh, he added the letter back into the envelope and placed in into his coat pocket. He would put it in a safe location when he had the chance, but for now, he had a mission.

Giving one last longing look at the bed, the angel wiped away his tears and went to find the mysterious pet.


	7. Here We Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley fucks up.

This was how Aziraphale ended up living with Crowley again. Though Aziraphale did not know that the snake he had adopted was the man he thought he had lost, the angel treated the snake with the utmost reverence. After reading up on proper care, the angel spent a good portion of every day tending to the snake. Crowley, in this form, was free to curl up and around the angel whenever he liked.

Aziraphale had noticed that Crowley had not specified the name of his snake in his letter, and out of respect for the name the snake might have, the angel referred to the animal exclusively as “dear.” Crowley did not mind this one bit.

A few years went by like this, with Aziraphale returning to business as usual in the shop. To an outsider, it seemed that the older book seller had passed away and left the shop to his son- a son that was strikingly similar to the old man in both appearance and temperament.

Unlike the outsiders, Crowley saw the changes in the routine. He heard the angel sneak silently into that bedroom on lonely, quiet nights. He noticed how Aziraphale had abandoned the romance genre entirely. He was aware of how the angel would stare off into nothingness more times than he could count in a day.

In his snake form, there was only so much Crowley could do to cheer him up. And, of course, his very existence reminded the angel of what he had lost. Crowley knew he couldn’t do this forever. How long were snakes supposed to live again? Whatever the answer, it wouldn’t be long enough.

He was extremely grateful that he had chickened out of revealing himself to the angel, but hated that he was forced to continue to lie. The demon relished in the ability to stay by the side of the angel for a few years longer, but every time he saw Aziraphale express grief over the loss of his friend, it wore on his heart.

One sunny July afternoon in 2005, it all came to a head. The angel had taken one glance at the day’s headline, and burst into tears. “Look at that,” he said to the snake that had crawled up onto the armrest in concern. “It’s in the papers and everything. London is going to be hosting the 2012 Olympics.”

The snake coiled into the angel’s lap to get a better look at the paper.

“We went to the Olympics, you know. Back in the ‘40s. Oh, it was amazing. And he was so, so happy. He was never that happy, you see, but this was something special. And now-” he cut himself off with a bitter laugh. “Now it’s happening again. But he won’t be here to see it. He can’t ever see anything, ever, ever again, ever…” the angel trailed off, letting the emotion take over his features. “And I know, I know that’s the point of it all, that human beauty lies in the fact that it is fleeting. But I don’t know if I’m ever going to get over it, you know. Not him. There was nobody like him, nobody in all of time that could compare. It was just so perfect with him. And then I had to go and screw it all up.” another bitter laugh. “He said it was fine in that letter of his, but I saw the look on his face when he found out. I bet you would run if you knew the real me too, wouldn’t you, my reptilian companion.”

Crowley turned to look back at the angel, who began to speak again upon the turn of the snake’s head. In a fluid motion, the angel had scooped up the demon and pressed him in a tight hold against his cheek. Crowley’s long tail still dangled in Aziraphale’s lap. “I just want to see him, one last time. I went to check on him, you know. I… I had to sneak around a bit, I’m not supposed to go into the archives like that, but…. And I was just so sure, so _sure_ that he would be there. But he wasn’t. I looked, I looked everywhere for him, but he just wasn’t there. And if he isn’t in Heaven, then-” he cut himself off a second time. “He doesn’t deserve that. If I was there, if I had just been there I _know_ I could have saved him, could have brought him up with me…”

His voice was breaking. “It would have been nice to have a proper goodbye, you know?”

Pressed so tightly against his angel, Crowley was overcome with emotion. He had sat for years watching Azirapahle grieve over him when he had been there all along. And now to hear that the angel had continued to break the rules, to sneak into Heaven’s archives to look for him and to find nothing, it was all so incredibly unfair..

In a moment of desperation, in a need to console him, and in a rush of protection and love, Crowley leaned close to the angel. Ever so gently, he took Aziraphale’s face into the palm of his hand and pressed his lips against the angel’s.

For one, glorious second, everything was okay again. The tears had stopped, and Crowley had finally been able to be with his angel again.

Then the moment was over. Crowley hadn’t even realized what was wrong until he pulled back and saw Aziraphale’s face as white as a sheet.

“Ooohhh…” said the exposed demon, “oh, fuck…”

Aziraphale blanched. “C- Crowley?”

The two stared at each other for another moment. Crowley was painfully aware that he did not look like an old man at all, and that he had no sunglasses to hide his eyes. Aziraphale, mouth agape, could do nothing but blink at the man who had suddenly appeared in his lap.

There was another beat, and then Crowley reacted. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then snapped himself out of the country.

\-------------------------------------------------------

As Aziraphale sat in his chair, pouring his heart out to a snake, he thought that he might continue to experience sadness for the rest of his life. He did not think that, within minutes, he would be experiencing such confusion, discomfort, anger, and fear.

He had risked quite a lot to sneak into Heaven’s soul archives, but his quest was doomed before it had even begun. Crowley was simply not there. The angel’s worst fears were confirmed- Crowley’s soul was in Hell. The angel had burned with anger. The system was supposed to be ineffable, and yet, how many times had it doomed innocent humans who were merely victims of circumstance? Never had the angel met someone more deserving of a place in Heaven, and yet those pearly gates had remained stubbornly shut for his love.

Holding the snake to his cheek, and feeling utterly ridiculous for cuddling a reptile, he wished for the chance to see Crowley again. In all those years, he had never managed to truly look into Crowley’s eyes. He was so good at hiding himself, even from Aziraphale, but the angel wanted nothing more than to know Crowley once and for all, to really _see_ him.

And then he did.

Aziraphale’s eyes were closed when he felt the hand on his cheek, and he didn’t manage to open them until a pair of familiar lips were pressing against his. His eyes went as wide as dinner plates in sheer shock at the sight of Crowley’s face pressing against his, looking as young as the day the two met. It was the good kind of shock- until Crowley pulled away, and opened his eyes.

His eyes were no longer guarded. In fact, they were no longer brown. They were a glowing gold, punctuated by deep, vertical black slashes. They were the eyes of a snake.

Oh.

_Oh._

The demon (that’s what he was, there was no other explanation) swore quietly upon seeing the angel’s shocked expression. The reveal had been an accident.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale sputtered.

It was impossible, it was ridiculous, it was out of the question, but it _was_. The man he thought he had lost was sitting in his lap, looking right at him, and _those eyes…_

It only took a second for Crowley to react. Letting out a mumbled “I’m sorry,” the demon disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

Aziraphale did not move for a very long time.

The realizations continued to pour down on him. _So that’s why he was so secretive, so that’s why he had all those opinions on morality, so that’s why he disliked religion, so that’s why his eyes were so hidden…_. But there were a few instances in which there were not realizations. Or rather, there were, but Aziraphale resisted believing them. The demon (for there was no denying what Crowley was any longer), had loved him. Demons could love- or at least Crowley could. Perhaps _only_ Crowley could. Aziraphale had been so sure that Crowley deserved to be in Heaven, but to discover _this?_

Aziraphale had to rethink everything. Crowley had loved him, as a human, there was no doubt (though the angel would continue to doubt anyway). He had never used demonic influence to corrupt him, had never coerced him into sin despite the several chances he had. The angel had even seen the demon actively participate in a few good deeds during his false human life.

So, Crowley was definitely different from the other demons. But did it matter? The realization that he had fallen in love with a demon was huge scandal in itself, something nobody could ever know, no matter how apparently nice the demon seemed to be. And what did that say about him, that he attracted such a creature? Was his disobedience that obvious? Were his traitorous thoughts that loud?

When the angel finally came to terms with all of this, he realized there was a decision to be made. Crowley had chosen to continue to love him even after his true identity was revealed. Now, Aziraphale had to make that same choice. He would be lying if he said that he had never held doubts about the Host or the Great Plan, but never before had the choice between Heaven and something else been so clear. The angel had always been able to push those thoughts away, to convince himself that he had an important job to do, but now the moment had arrived.

Crowley intrigued him, sure. But Aziraphale couldn’t choose him. Choosing Crowley meant _not_ choosing Heaven, and Aziraphale simply wasn’t brave enough to do that. And this time, he had to go all the way. This time, there could be no more traitorous thoughts. He had to go all in.

“You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too,” the angel said to the empty room. “Corinthians, 10:20.”

Biting his lip, he made his choice. He stood from the chair. He committed himself to Heaven, and adamantly refused to love Crowley. Crowley was a demon. If he came back, he would simply have to be dealt with. He needed to make sure he was prepared for battle if the fiend ever crossed the threshold to the shop again.

With that thought, Aziraphale marched out of the shop to ready himself for the fight.


	8. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale confronts the demon (Crowley POV).

The two avoided each other as fiercely as possible. Throwing themselves into their angelic and demonic work, they could almost pretend that the last century had been completely normal. Aziraphale had settled back into his shop, and Crowley had fucked off about halfway around the world to get as far away as possible from the mess he had made of things. It was quite a costly miracle, and he had a bitch of a time completing all the paperwork he was saddled with afterwards, but it was necessary. Crowley was certain that Aziraphale had figured it all out by now. He had tricked him for nearly a century, but the angel wasn’t completely daft. An immortal, shapeshifting being with snake eyes? Well, you didn’t need to be a scholar to figure that one out.

This avoidance strategy worked until 2008.

Hastur and Liger had leered at him until he was forced to take the child that was to be the Antichrist. Handing over the disturbing infant to even more disturbing nuns, Crowley got back in his car and had a good think.

He did not want the world to end. Even before, well, before That Thing he was quite determinedly Not Thinking About, he had always enjoyed the life he made on Earth. He never really was all about the Apocalypse plan. Though he had never been exactly _happy_ on Earth (except, maybe, for That Thing), he had certainly been much less miserable there than down below.

But he would need help. Angelic help, from someone who was willing to bend the rules. And unfortunately, he knew just the one to ask.

“Oh, for Satan’s sake,” he growled, slamming on the gas and whipping the vehicle in the direction of that damned bookshop.

It would be fine. If he said no, that was that, and the world would be ending soon anyway so the embarrassment wouldn’t last very long. And if he said yes, they would just have to be civil about it. They would do their jobs, avoid each other, and get it done. If Crowley could just get a grip on himself, everything would be fine.

Crowley was expecting Aziraphale to be very surprised to see him. He was expecting the scene to be tense, but manageable. He was expecting to be in and out as efficiently and professionally as possible.

He was not expecting Aziraphale to attempt to kill him on sight.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley knocked on the door of the shop. “Ang-?" _Shit._ "Aziraphale?” he called.

No answer, but that did not mean he wasn’t there. The store was usually closed to stop customers from getting their hands on the books, and it was likely soundproofed as well so that the angel did not have to feel bad about keeping those people out. Crowley didn't want to have to let himself in, though he knew it would be the most likely scenario, so he idled for a few moments instead. When this only served to make him more anxious, the demon thought he better just get it over with before he lost the nerve to save the world.

With a quick miracle, the door opened.

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale I know you’re in here. I just want to talk.” Truthfully, he had no idea whether the angel was home or not, but he very much hoped he was, as Crowley would feel supremely awkward if he just broke into the shop with nobody home.

Once he had made it to the armchair by the fireplace that the angel was so fond of, he stopped. “Alright, angel,” Shit, it slipped out again! Was it okay to keep calling him that? After all, he was an angel, technically, so maybe it wasn’t a word of endearment anymore. Well, he had to keep doing it now or else he would look like an idiot. “Listen, both of us don’t want to talk right now, but I have some pretty big news, and I think you’re gonna wanna hear about it. It’s also rather time sensitive, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

No response. “Alright. Huh. Guess he really isn’t here,” he said to the armchair with a shrug. As he turned to leave a searing pain shot through his chest.

_Ow ow what the fuck what the fuck!!_ Dropping to his hands and knees, he was vaguely aware that his sunglasses had been knocked off. What the hell was going on? _A sigil_, he thought. _Someone’s just activated a bloody sigil!_

And then there was Aziraphale, standing over him. Crowley was in such pain, he couldn’t turn his head to look up at him, but this time there was no mistaking the angelic presence in the room. The room was glowing white, yellow, and gold all at the same time. From his position of agony on the ground, the demon could see the feet of the angel hovering a solid two inches off the floor.

“Demon Crowley,” began the angel in a voice that shook Crowley’s core even worse than the stabbing in his chest from the ethereal magic surrounding him. “You are an agent of corruption and chaos. You spread unrest amongst the good people of God’s Earth, and you tempt the creations of our Lord towards sin. When you fell from grace, it was divine punishment against the evils you had spread into the world. Now, you face divine punishment once more. I, Principality Aziraphale, angel of our God in Heaven, will deliver.”

Crowley gasped, his ears ringing- were they bleeding? His body felt like it was on fire.

“As is customary, in all the merciful righteousness that is our God, and in all the goodness I represent through Her, the Heavenly Host now offers you a chance to repent. Repent, sinner Crowley, and you may be spared.”

Though Crowley couldn’t see it, Aziraphale waved his hand to let the sigil he had drawn take a pause. With a choking gasp, Crowley felt the pain release its hold on him.

“Ah, ungh, Azzzziraphale… What the bloody-?” he looked up, still not entirely believing what was happening. Never in a million years had he thought Aziraphale would react to his presence so violently. He hadn’t been that bad, had he? But looking up at the angel, Crowley was nearly blinded. The sheer force of ethereal energy radiating off the angel was almost as bad as the sigil, and once glance at the angel’s eyes let Crowley know Aziraphale was not in the mood for casual banter.

“Holy, ugh, okay, okay, repent, I can do that, I can…” once again, he trailed off. His eyes had settled on something far less blinding, but just as painful. Aziraphale was towering over him, his wings stretched as far as they would manage. It was a thoroughly terrifying sight, but the worst part was what Crowley spied in the right hand of the angel.

It was a crystalline jug, one that Crowley had gifted the angel as a part of a very fancy silverware set for a long ago Christmas. It was filled to the brim with the purest, clearest liquid to ever exist.

“...That's holy water, angel…” Crowley faltered.

That booming, terrifying voice again. “As a result of your sins, the Host has decided you must be immediately erased from this Earth. As a being of demonic nature, you have been sentenced to execution by way of holy water. This is your time to repent. I will not remind you again. Now, foul creature, I command you to begin.”

Crowley started shaking again, not from pain, but from fear. So this was really how it ended. This was the punishment for stepping out of line, for stepping too far out of bounds. Crowley had considered death by holy water before. In some of his darker nights, he had figured it would be the best way to go. It would hurt, but then, he wouldn’t have to exist anymore. Much easier than forcing himself through day after endless day amid the crippling loneliness of what he was. But he wouldn't have been able to get his hands on the stuff even if he had truly wanted to go that route.

It wasn’t the death that scared him so much. It wasn’t the holy water that made the demon begin to cry in front of the angel for the second time. It was Aziraphale.

Yes, there was a mountain of awkwardness between them. But Crowley really thought that they would be able to get over it, at least for the sake of the Apocalypse. Seeing Aziraphale like this was so terrifying, and it felt like a betrayal.

_Look at you, Crowley. Going on about betrayal. You’re a demon, for Satan’s sake. You don’t get to feel betrayal. You are betrayal. You are the embodiment of everything you complain about in this world, the embodiment of everything you hate about it. You are hate. You don’t get to love. You don’t get to save the world. And you certainly don’t get him._

Crowley had been taking too long. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the throat. “_Now_,” the angel commanded, lifting Crowley to eye level, leaving the demon dancing on his toes to alleviate the chokehold.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped, tears flowing freely by now. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he had to beg for his life. “Aziraphale, I repent. I repent my sins against the Almighty, I repent my sins against the people of this Earth, I repent my…” but it made no difference. As Crowley continued his list, Aziraphale’s piercing eyes seemed to bore into him, into his soul, and reflect back the lies.

The angel removed his left hand from the demon’s throat, and with another wave of the hand, the pain of the sigil was back. Crowley fell to his knees once more, as if in worship of the angel. He knew it was hopeless.

Looking into the flames of the fireplace near him, his mood changed. _Fuck this. Fuck it all to Hell and back. I’m done._

“Fine then,” he laughed, as the tears continued to flow. “Do it. Whole bloody world is going to be gone soon. See if I care. See if I bloody care. You’re the one who was all about the Earth, eh angel?” he sighed, quietly. “You loved it all. The people, the food, the culture, the animals, hell even the grass, you loved it all. But none of that was for me.” Crowley smiled like the condemned man he was. “None of that was meant for my enjoyment. It’s just more punishment, see, more things I can’t have. Like you.”

He looked up. The light of Aziraphale’s glowing eyes stung Crowley's golden ones, but he continued on. “You were really it, angel. You made me… made me feel something. You made me think-” he let out another choking laugh, “you made me think that maybe there was something, something out there really worth living for.”

Crowley was pouring his soul out now. He had a fleeting thought that maybe it was the power of the angelic command that was causing him to speak so freely, but then again, maybe it was the knowledge that he was about to die. It was his last chance to say it all.

With that thought, he decided to go all in. Bowing his head, Crowley spoke once more. “Do it, angel. It’s alright. I understand. I know what I am. I know what I deserve. A poor sinner like me, well, I already got my taste of Heaven when I was with you. For the Lord to have allowed me such years of wonder, beauty, and love before my end… that’s mercy enough.”

Looking up one last time, but keeping his eyes closed so he no longer had to see the face of such righteous fury on his angel, he smiled. “I’m ready.”

There was a pause. When nothing happened for a moment, Crowley allowed himself to take a peek- perhaps he had been spared after all. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of an upturned jug and a puddle of the clearest water he had ever seen hurling towards his face.


	9. A Choice To Be Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale confronts the demon (Aziraphale POV).

Aziraphale was starting to think that Crowley would never come back.

Why would he? After the complete embarrassment of the last century, well, it stood to reason that the two of them should stay as far away from the other as possible. The angel was glad for this, because he was terrified of Crowley.

It wasn’t that Crowley struck him as particularly malicious- in fact, what scared him was that he was the opposite. In the years they had spent together, Crowley seemed just fine. A little nihilistic, a little misguided, but overall pure of heart. He was so sure, so sure all those years that Crowley had a good soul. And then, the reveal. The realization that Crowley was a demon, of all things. Someone who had been a part of Heaven- once. And then, fallen.

For what crimes? Crowley seemed so caring, so warm, so understanding. So, no, he decided, Aziraphale was not scared of Crowley himself. He was scared that Heaven might be in the wrong.

After all, they had cast out a seemingly wonderful soul! And maybe the demon had been more unruly in his past, but surely he had changed? Could demons not find God again? Could those most in need of it not find forgiveness, ever? It was not the first time he had questioned the Host, but it was the first time he had possessed such concrete proof that something was amiss in the system. And that scared him.

The other part that scared him was the fact that Crowley had snuck back into his life for a second time as a snake. It was quite embarrassing that they had enjoyed an entire romantic life together as humans, but it was an honest mistake from both sides. It was not a mistake when Crowley decided to continue to pursue the relationship in animal form. He could have left so easily, but he did not. And that meant, even knowing that Aziraphale was an angel, Crowley still cared for him. That was also quite terrifying. After all, what did affection from a demon say about Aziraphale? Was it a sign that he himself was beginning to slip?

All of these fears swam around the angel’s mind for a few years before Aziraphale began to consider that the demon would never return.

But then he did.

He had been reorganizing the biographies when he heard a noise at the door. Assuming it was a customer, he hid away from the main area so that he wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving a customer locked out. But then, the door opened anyway. And that voice called out from the doorway.

“Aziraphale...? Aziraphale I know you’re in here. I just want to talk.”

His heart raced. Without allowing himself to think, he went for the secret compartment behind the back wall.

“Alright, angel,” the voice started again. Did he really just call him that again? The context had changed, though, so perhaps it was meant differently this time? The voice continued, “Listen, both of us don’t want to talk right now, but I have some pretty big news, and I think you’re gonna wanna hear about it. It’s also rather time sensitive, so if you wouldn’t mind…” 

Aziraphale was frantically working to draw an intricate symbol on the side of a bookshelf. Thinking quickly, he had miracled himself a bit of lamb’s blood- hopefully that would make the sigil stronger. Though he was quiet on the outside, he was hysterical on the inside.  _ So this is what is must be like to be human. To be so terrified of the unknown, to be so horrified by something new and different and out of place that you have no choice but to wipe it out. _ Was it a sin to get rid of a demon that showed signs of goodness? Or was Crowley some sort of mistake, in which case, he should erase the error? Or perhaps, his doubt in the Host had been spotted, and this was all some ridiculous test?

That voice again. “Alright. Huh. Guess he really isn’t here.”

Aziraphale steeled himself for the big moment. Now was the time. The angel had quite a few strange and conflicting emotions about Crowley, but what he felt did not matter. What mattered now was being as stringent as possible to the will of the Host- to complete a simple procedure without questioning. “Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes,” the angel whispered to himself. Ephesians 6:10. He finished the drawing and stepped out of hiding.

Crowley fell to the floor instantly, sunglasses clattering away. The sight of it angered him. There was his proof. He may have seemed different, but there he was, falling to the ground under the spell of the sigil. He was a creature of Hell no matter how you sliced it. The angel let the righteous anger overtake him, and the room began to glow. Aziraphale allowed his mind to exit, and let his basic programming take control over his voice as he began to float.

He let his voice go on for a bit about divine principles and sinful behavior. When he finished, he waved his hand to momentarily release the sigil’s hold on the demon.

“Ah, ungh, Azzzziraphale… What the bloody-?” Crowley started. It was a strange reaction, as if Crowley was expecting the angel to let him go, that this was all a little joke in good fun, and soon they would be sitting on the couch having afternoon tea. This made Aziraphale even more angry. Did the demon know what he had done to him? The doubt he had planted? The pain of worrying constantly about the watchful eye of the Host? How dare he act like their respective statuses did not matter! How dare he behave as if everything could be normal! His eyes burned with a steaming glare to meet Crowley’s. To meet those golden eyes, the snake-like eyes of someone damned. Crowley’s face changed upon seeing that, and his tone changed.

“Holy, ugh, okay, okay, repent, I can do that, I can…” once again, he trailed off. His eyes had found the secret that the angel had been hiding in the back wall ever since Aziraphale had discovered Crowley’s true identity. “...That's holy water, angel…” Crowley faltered.

He sounded so betrayed. He sounded like he hadn’t expected this. The words almost made the angel falter, but he couldn’t afford any more doubts. Once again, he used the demon’s words to fuel his anger. Letting the angelic voice take over once more, Aziraphale commanded Crowley to repent his sins, as was customary for someone destined for execution. But he did not. He just sat there, those eyes dancing with confusion and fear. Those eyes, that were so entrancing, so beautiful, and so against everything Aziraphale stood for. Those eyes that Aziraphale wanted to look into every moment as much as he wanted to tear them out of their sockets. Then, like a gardener ripping a beautiful flower from the soil after labelling it a weed, Aziraphale yanked Crowley up off the ground by the throat. “ _ Now _ ,” the angel commanded.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped, as the tears raced down across his cheeks to wash over Aziraphale’s hand, “Aziraphale, I repent. I repent my sins against the Almighty, I repent my sins against the people of this Earth, I repent my sins against Heaven and the Host, I repent my sins against you, Principality Aziraphale, I repent my sins against….” And he continued. But Aziraphale wasn’t listening. It felt so, so wrong. Looking at Crowley like this, hearing him speak in the proper manner, watching him follow the rules, it wasn’t right. It only served to remind Aziraphale of what an anomaly this demon really was. The angel removed his left hand from the demon’s throat, and with another wave of the hand, let the sigil overtake him once more. It was time. Aziraphale was finally being tested. What was more important to him- the curiosity he seemed to have been created with, or his loyalty to the Host?

And then Crowley spoke again. “Fine then. Do it.”

This got Aziraphale’s attention. He had expected someone like Crowley to fight back, their desire for life to fuel a violent battle against such condemnation, but Crowley had given up quite easily. He continued, “Whole bloody world is going to be gone soon. See if I care. See if I bloody care. You’re the one who was all about the Earth, eh angel?” he sighed, quietly. “You loved it all. The people, the food, the culture, the animals, hell even the grass, you loved it all.”

Aziraphale was unsure of what the demon meant by the world ending- perhaps an allusion to the dwindling possibility of human existence in the future due to the climate crisis? But he knew what the demon meant about Aziraphale’s love for the Earth. It was just another one of his faults. Just another way in which the angel had put something else before his love for God. Just another way in which the angel was flawed.

Crowley’s shaking voice continued on, quieter now. “But none of that was for me. None of that was meant for my enjoyment. It’s just more punishment, see, more things I can’t have. Like you.” He looked up. There were those eyes again. “You were really it, angel. You made me… made me feel something. You made me think-” he let out another choking laugh, “you made me think that maybe there was something, something out there really worth living for.”

Aziraphale shivered as his grip tightened around the holy water. How ironic, that the glass had been a gift from Crowley himself. That his love for the angel was what would get him killed by the angel. How disgustingly, horribly ironic.

“Do it, angel. It’s alright. I understand. I know what I am. I know what I deserve. A poor sinner like me, well, I already got my taste of Heaven when I was with you. For the Lord to have allowed me such years of wonder, beauty, and love before my end… that’s mercy enough.” Looking up one last time, with eyes finally closed, he smiled. “I’m ready.”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley had just spilled out everything to him. He had just truly showed him his soul. Was he really about to do this? Was he really about to choose Heaven over the wonder that this incredibly confusing creature represented? Could he live with that decision?

He was pausing too long. Crowley was going to open his eyes in a moment, and he couldn’t stand to see them again. He couldn’t see them again.

They had to go.

Aziraphale tipped over the glass and the water rushed towards the demon’s face as yellow flashes revealed themselves one more time.


	10. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley reach an Agreement.

If Crowley had kept his eyes closed, he would have been dead. The sight of those eyes was Aziraphale’s final chance to doubt, to push against the beliefs he had been ingrained with all his life. If not for that short moment, the demon would have melted away.

As it happened, Aziraphale’s last glance at those eyes blinking up at him, waiting for his judgement, had been the missing piece the angel needed. Crowley’s very existence was a miracle. It was a new, incredible form of beauty that Aziraphale couldn’t just erase. Yes, Aziraphale was a creature of Heaven- but in the millennia he had spent on Earth, exploring what Her world had to offer, he had also become his own creature, separate from Heaven. A being with separate dreams, hopes, and desires. A being that was curious, no matter how unforgivable that curiosity may be. It was for this reason that, at the last moment, Aziraphale snapped the water away.

Crowley screamed anyway. He clutched at the side of his head. Though the angel hadn’t yet realized, a single drop had managed to lick the outer skin of the demon’s ear before Aziraphale changed his mind. Crowley thought for sure that he was dying. The pain of the sigil was nothing compared to this. The drop felt like fire- not Hellfire, but  _ holy _ fire, the kind that had lapped at his ankles before the floor gave way and caused him to fall so very, very far all those years ago.

After Aziraphale had a moment to come to grips with the fact that he had finally made the decision, had finally chosen something else over Heaven, he realized Crowley was in pain. Destroying the sigil with a flick of his hand, the angel bent to help Crowley. Falling to his knees and dropping all pretext, he embraced the demon and began searching for the site of the burn.

When Aziraphale managed to pull Crowley’s hands away from the site, the angel recoiled. Like acid, the single drop had eaten away at the flesh of the ear. It was entirely mangled, barely recognizable as the shape it was meant to be, but it had not made its way any further than that. Pressing his hand against the ear as the demon continued to scream (though, noticeably, the demon still did not move away or attempt to resist the angel), Aziraphale let healing power flow to the ear. As he did this, he whispered to the demon.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into the undamaged ear. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve decided, I’ve finally decided… you don’t have to fear me anymore. It’s alright now.”

It took another minute for the screams to morph into sobs, and for the sobs to morph into shaky breaths. The angel continued to send healing energy to the ear, but he knew it would not do more than ease the pain- the ear would be permanently mangled.

Aziraphale continued to hold the demon like this well after Crowley’s breathing had calmed. It was his way of apologizing- not just for this near fatal mistake, but for all the years of denying his true self for the benefit of Heaven. It had been almost half an hour when Aziraphale finally spoke.

“My dear, I know you said that what you wanted to discuss was time sensitive, but perhaps you could come back tomorrow? To give us both some time to… recover?”

Crowley had frozen at the endearing nickname. That was a bit unfair, the angel thought. Crowley had called him a name, after all. Could it not be the same both ways?

The demon extracted himself from the arms of the angel and stood, quickly grabbing his sunglasses from the floor to hide any expression. The glasses were a bit crooked with only one ear to rest on, and the angel noticed Crowley wave his hand to magically fix the alignment of the glasses, though fixing the ear itself was a lost cause. “See you then,” said Crowley in a clipped tone, as he slipped out of the shop without another glance. The angel, left alone on the floor from the shock of the speedy exit, had nothing left to do but think.

The next day, Crowley knocked on the door without a word, and waited for the door to open. He half wondered if the angel would try to kill him again, but instead, Aziraphale welcomed him in, and the two attempted to make themselves comfortable in the sitting room.

Instead, they were extremely uncomfortable, and the two sat perched on the edges of their seats as far away from the other as the room would allow. Crowley’s sunglasses remained determinedly on.

Apparently, Crowley really had been onto something when he had mentioned the end of the world yesterday. According to him, the Apocalypse would soon be arriving. Crowley argued that since both of them had enjoyed their time on the surface, the two of them should fight to keep the Earth around. Aziraphale did not bring up the point that the demon had said only yesterday that he did not really care for the Earth so much as he cared for Aziraphale himself.

In another circumstance, the angel would have never agreed to such a plan. But after so decidedly choosing to view himself as the leader of his own life and controller of his own destiny rather than Heaven, it seemed logical to go for it.

When Aziraphale agreed to the terms of the plan, Crowley nodded his head and wished him a clipped goodbye before taking another speedy exit, leaving barely a dent in the couch cushion to signify that he had ever been present at all.

The pair took turns dealing with Warlock. Crowley, disguised as the nanny, would cover Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. Aziraphale, as the gardener, would take Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Hoping that the opposing influences of good and evil would cancel each other out and allow the boy to grow objectively neutral, the two worked very closely while remaining as physically distant as possible. The exception was Sundays.

Aziraphale would take the boy to church on Sunday mornings. After church, the angel would pass Warlock back to Crowley. This meant there would be a few moments of face to face contact every week. This moment was both dreaded and eagerly awaited. Initially, the mountain of awkwardness and fear made it nearly impossible for either of them to make eye contact, let alone speak. As the years passed, Warlock began to offer excuses for conversation on the long walk from the church to the parking lot. He would mention a concept discussed in the church that day, and the demon and the angel on each of his shoulders would respond with their own opinions. By the time Warlock was nine, the two were able to make conversation without needing to use the child as an excuse. On that weekly walk, it almost felt like their long talks about ethics and philosophy held back in France so many years ago. But then, they would get to the car, and the discussion would be over.

When the two revealed their true identities to each other, both had felt a bit betrayed. Crowley got over the feeling rather quickly, too shamed by his own secret to really consider the fact that the angel had lied to him. Aziraphale, conversely, still felt wary of Crowley. You can’t trust a demon after all, and demons certainly were not supposed to love. The angel still had not quite figured out what Crowley’s deal was. Had their entire “human” life together been an attempt to influence him towards the dark? Some cruel trick or joke? But then, why waste so much time on just one soul? And as he had already realized, Crowley never did anything to influence Aziraphale in any direction. He merely watched. So perhaps it was no more than a rather embarrassing accident, but then, what of that second kiss? Did he feel bad for Aziraphale? But why would a demon care about his feelings- was it even possible for one to do so?

The answer was rather clear. The angel knew, deep down, that Crowley loved him- at least, he had at some point. But this was too terrifying. To be loved by a demon of all things was simply out of the question. And so, to avoid the plain evidence of this love, the angel tried his best to avoid the other (except on Sundays, the day of rest. The day when he allowed himself to indulge in Crowley for just a few precious minutes).

The two had their first real conversation since their previous life together on Warlock’s eleventh birthday. They had assisted with party preparations all morning, and when the time came to sing that irritating song and hand out cake to a mass of greedy, screaming children, the two snuck to the side to watch the Apocalypse begin.

As they waited for the Hellhound to arrive, they talked about their accomplishments in regards to the boy. It felt good to have made an effort, to have created something, to have influenced a life of perfect balance. As the clock changed, the two had a brief, quiet moment where the thought that everything would soon be back to normal passed through their minds.

And then, they realized they had spent the last eleven years with the wrong boy.

“God  _ dammit _ ,” swore Crowley as the two flung themselves into the Bentley to search for the right boy.

“Most unfortunate, indeed,” agreed the angel, and the two sped off to look for answers.

In their haste to run and solve this mystery, the two had left that mountain of awkward feelings behind. There simply wasn’t room for that kind of baggage in the car, and they needed to be quick and efficient. There was no time for nervous glances and circular conversations about the weather when the fate of the world was at stake. And if the two of them were excited by the fact that they could, for the first time, truly be their natural selves around each other, nobody needed to know.

This is how they went about finding Adam.


	11. One More Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Apocalypse, and The After

In the chaos of the last few years, the angel and the demon had staunchly refused to love each other. There was a need to be professional, to be quiet, to do a job and then leave. This sentiment changed when the bookshop burned.

Crowley, upon realizing the angel was nowhere to be found after throwing himself into the flames, let himself scream it. He let himself fight, and hurt, and burn, and he let himself love Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, inconveniently detoured in Heaven, had considered abandoning the Earth. In the endless halls of pure white, the doubts had crept in once more. If the angels wanted this, they must be right, he thought to himself. Despite this, he couldn’t help peeking at the Earth just a little to see if Crowley would abandon the fight as well. When the angel found the mass of grief that was Crowley, his heart made a strange movement- a combination of leaping and sinking. The demon’s grief was proof, real proof, that his love had never been a lie. It had never been a trick, or a cruel joke. Better yet, this was proof that this love was still there. On the other hand, the angel despaired to see Crowley in such distress, and in that moment he banished all doubts once and for all. Jumping back to the Earth and racing to find his partner, the angel finally allowed himself to love Crowley.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale had read in many books that time seemed to slow down in dangerous situations. He found that this was not accurate, as the time spent at the airbase absolutely flew past. Before he knew it, the Earth was saved. Aziraphale and Crowley had subverted their superiors. The children had stood up to the Horsemen, Adam had rejected Satan, and the Apocalypse was averted.

After what seemed like no time at all, the pair found themselves walking past that same faithful bench in the park.

“That was quite the experience. I’m ever so glad all of this is finally behind us.” said Aziraphale.

Crowley took a worried breath as he kept the pace beside him. “Not quite, angel. You know they’ll be coming for us. It’s only a matter of time.”

Aziraphale slowed. “Right… of course,” he responded, nervously placing his hands in his pockets. There, he discovered a piece of paper he had forgotten that he grabbed earlier. Upon this realization, he took it out, and read it again. “Oh… I suppose that might work.”

“Hm?”

The angel glanced at the demon for a brief moment, embarrassed by the plan he was about to propose. “I do think I might have a way out of our problem, but it is rather… intimate.”

Crowley stiffened just slightly. “Lay it on me, angel. Or, ah-” he stumbled over the poor choice of words, “tell me what you’ve got.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

The body swap went surprisingly well. It didn’t bother Crowley in the least, as he was well aware that Hell rarely paid enough attention to him to know he was in the room, let alone to know whether or not he was an imposter. Aziraphale was a bit upset that Crowley wasn’t discovered- not that he wanted any harm to come to the demon, but he was a bit hurt to realize that the Host had been so easy to fool. For the second time in two days, they found themselves by that same loyal bench.

The two talked and laughed about the whole crazy affair more at ease with each other than they had been in a very long time. When silence eventually overtook the two, both parties sadly realized that the next step was to part ways.

“Well then,” started Crowley, shifting his jacket. “I should be going.”

As the demon made to stand, Aziraphale realized his hands were shaking. He realized this in the way that one might realize they have walked so far in one direction that they will be too tired to walk all the way back, but it had been such a lovely walk, and maybe they wanted to keep going anyway. He tried to convince himself to see reason. Aziraphale didn’t really know this man. Not really. He knew how Crowley laughed, and cried, and loved. But the two had shared company for barely a century, hardly long enough to be a significant amount of time for an ethereal being such as himself. This was a rather sound argument that the angel really should just take this as an out and let the whole thing go.

But as he told himself this, Aziraphale realized he did not want to listen to reason. In all those years, all those millennia of listening to the rules, rules, rules. Of breaking them and bending them and being suffocated by them. Aziraphale had suffered this alone, and never before, never had he heard another soul express to him that they felt the same way too.  _ And from a demon, no less! _ Was that hope? Was that the glimmer of, of something bigger, something possible? That maybe in this confusing world he might, just once, have something… more than a friend?

He knew it was impossible. But, just maybe, it was ineffable. He took a breath.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Crowley,” he started, as the demon glanced back at him with the full force of those serpentine eyes shining over the tips of his sunglasses.  _ Speak now or forever hold your peace, Aziraphale _ , the angel thought.  _ Here we go _ .

“I would quite like for us to start over.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised.

“Let’s try this again, shall we? I hope that’s not too forward. It’s just, well, I couldn’t let you go without trying.”

Crowley’s lips curved slightly. “I know the feeling, angel.”

Aziraphale shifted nervously on the bench. “It’s just that, well you know, I do want a chance to explore this new freedom first, and as humans we went a bit fast what with the whole mortality issue, but I really am willing to give it another go if I could just have a little more time-”

“It’s alright, Aziraphale,” said Crowley. “I understand.”

Aziraphale looked up at the demon, who by now had stood from the bench. “My dear,” he started, “would you be so kind as to meet me here in a year? Say, dinner at the Ritz?”

Crowley smiled and bent down to where the angel was still sitting, and grasped Aziraphale’s hand in a firm shake. “I’ll see you then, angel.”

Footsteps, and then, silence.

This is how the angel and the demon decided to start over.


	12. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley start over.

The years passed slowly but surely, in the way that years tend to do. For the first century or so they did not touch at all. Eventually, the two began warm handshakes upon greeting, soft brushes of arms as they walked, and accidental touches between knees at dinner. Of course, they were nervous, and they had every reason to be. But they soon found that they were correct- no one would bother them now. As the idea of their newfound freedom solidified, the lengths between outings shortened. As time went on, the two found themselves enjoying each other's company almost every month, and their dance began anew.

It was certainly sad when the two realized what was happening with the humans. They were good, mostly, but the ones who were bad were the ones with the power. As Crowley watched the angel sigh in regret with every news article about another species lost, another forest cleared, another river soiled, Crowley began working on a secret project for his angel.

Humans were incredible creatures, but ever since the tower of Babel, they never really grew out of wanting more. This ultimately caused their demise. Between the collapsing of entire ecosystems, the poverty borne starvation, and the endless pollution, it did not take long before their entire species began to disappear. As Heaven and Hell alike looked on, the last human took their final breath.

Aziraphale leaned his head into Crowley’s shoulder, careful not to bump into the mangled ear. It was a constant reminder to Aziraphale of what he had almost lost due to his blind loyalty to Heaven.

The angel sighed. “I really thought they would fix it, you know? And to take all that other life with them, I just can’t believe it has to end like this, and so soon. I mean, don’t they deserve more?”

Crowley tilted his head to rest against Aziraphale. “Well, that’s what they get, flying too close to the sun and all that. I should know.”

The angel gave a tired yet sharp look at Crowley. Aziraphale had slowly been training the demon to accept personal compliments and praise of character, but every now and then that same self-deprecating humor slipped out.

“Right, right. Sorry. I mean, it sucks. It really, really does. They deserved better than that.”

Satisfied, but still glum, the angel returned his head to Crowley’s shoulder.

“Actually, though, about the whole ‘other life’ thing, well… I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you. A feel-better present, if you will.”

Aziraphale looked up at him once more.

“If you wanna come with me now, I can show you.”

Crowley offered his arm and the angel accepted. With no humans left about, they could use miracles freely. With a snap of fingers, the pair was somewhere brand new.

Aziraphale’s face brightened as he looked around, shocked. Crowley’s golden eyes couldn’t get enough of how that angelic face filled with joy as he turned about. “Oh, my dear Crowley, it’s beautiful!”

And it was.

They were standing on the top of a very high stone wall, but it was what could be found within those walls that made the angel so excited. Lush greens peeked out from every corner as critters of all shapes and sizes scurried around the floor, flew through the air, and stomped past the bushes. In the distance, the pair could hear the calls and the howls of species thought to have been extinct for centuries. A tear of joy formed on the angel’s face as a dove landed on his outstretched hand. Crowley laughed at the ridiculous irony of the sight. “Oh my dear, however did you do all this?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley smiled. “Just because I’m not always with you doesn’t mean I’m not always thinking of you, angel.”

There was a blush in response. “It’s like a second chance,” said the angel, “a chance for it all to be so wonderful again.”

Crowley was very pleased with the results of his work, and smiled as the dove flew away. “I thought you might like it.” Reaching out to wrap an arm around his angel, and a wing for good measure, the pair had a sudden realization. In this familiar pose, the two turned to each other.

“You were the-”

“Were you the one who-?”

Pausing mid sentence as they both came to the same conclusion, they laughed. “We are really not that observant,” smirked Crowley as he caught his breath. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with stars in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, for the second time in his life.

Crowley felt his heart leap at the words he had waited so patiently for. Taking the angel’s hands safely into his own, he responded.

“I love you, too.”

And finally, finally,  _ finally _ , Aziraphale offered his lips for the second time. Ever so slowly, ever so gently, Crowley placed his own upon the offered pair, and worshipped the angel. In turn, Aziraphale spoiled the demon absolutely rotten with soft breaths, delicate movements of hands, and pure, pure love.

Though they didn’t know it, a pair of ineffable eyes had been carefully watching this scene unfold. “A second chance, indeed,” said a voice too far away for anyone to hear. “Well, it seemed to have worked out for them. I don’t see why we can’t try this again, too.”

She was kind enough to allow the pair another few centuries alone in the garden, free to spend every second of every day luxuriating in each other. While the duo was off celebrating the new millennia by watching the birth of a nebula (much better than New Year’s fireworks), two new creatures appeared in their garden. When the two returned, they would be surprised to find a pair of humans looking as wide eyed and curious as Adam and Eve. One of them would be holding a note:

_ Happy Anniversary. Let’s try this again, shall we? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm a first time poster/writer so I can't wait to hear your comments and see what y'all think <3


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